Til the Seas Gang Dry
by gomababe
Summary: When France first meets Scotland. A fairly sappy fic.


It had been more than seven hundred years and yet every time the Frenchman was surprised whenever his best friend and lover did something that made him fall in love with the other man all over again. France took Scotland's arm with a somewhat shy smile,

"May I ask exactly where it is we are headed, mon cher?" he asked as Scotland lead the other nation through the tangle of gorse and wild heather that grew all around them. The red-haired nation gave him a happy grin,

"Ye'll ken it when ye see it, gradhan." He assured the blonde nation, "Jus' hae a wee bit patience, aye?" France shook his head and sighed,

"I just wish you would tell me when you are taking me out into your 'ighlands, mon grand." He pouted, "They can be a difficult climb sometimes." Scotland laughed,

"It's why I keep on tellin' ye tae make sure ye've got a decent pair o' boots on ye." He retorted, flashing France a brilliant smile that almost made the French nation melt, "But, honestly, love, it's no' much longer." The assurance was quickly backed up with a swift kiss. France smiled up at Scotland. He hadn't seen the Celtic nation this excited for over a decade; the smiles always did make the man look decidedly more handsome, France realised as he watched Scotland stride on ahead. Scotland would never be the most elegant nation in the world, he had a certain brusqueness to his nature that most other European nations disliked, and many would question the man's fashion sense. Despite his brashness, France knew that Scotland could be very eloquent when he wanted to be, not to mention the fact that the Celtic nation had always been a bit of a closet romantic. One only needed to look to writers such as Burns to see that. France was shaken out of his reverie as Scotland called him over. Frowning, the blonde haired nation walked up beside a grinning Scotland, only to gasp at the scene laid out in front of him. The steep valley opened up into a stunning view of a huge loch surrounded on almost every side by steep mountains. The hills, though laid bare of trees, were covered in purple heather and the golden splashes of gorse. Scotland looked at France, a more gentle smile gracing his face,

"Ye mind this place?" he asked, his voice wistful, "It's whaur we first met aifter ye wandered into ma hoose when ye riled Rome up somethin' fierce." Looking at the scene more closely and casting his mind back, France realised that this was indeed the place he had first met Scotland,

"Ah, oui. I 'ad lost track of little Angleterre when I was supposed to be keeping an eye on 'im. Petit Brittania was very adept at hiding, non?" France laughed as he remembered what had happened that day.

...

_Gallia looked around and kicked at a tussock of grass with a heavy sigh,_

"_Rome is going to kill me if I cannot find Britannia soon." He muttered, "Why does the little rabbit run so much?" he wondered. A movement out of the corner of his eye caused the Roman Province to freeze. He was in a completely unfamiliar area, far north of the wall Rome had constructed to keep the barbarians out of Roman territory. He gasped, mostly out of shock, as someone pushed him to the ground,_

"Dè tha thu a dèanamh?"_ a gruff voice asked in his ear. Gallia glared at his attacker from the corner of his eyes,_

"_If you must address me, do so in Latin." He demanded. The attacker shifted the weight on Gallia's back a little,_

"_I asked whit ye were daein' ye snotty wee brat." The voice hissed, this time in Latin. Gallia felt the tip of an arrow at his neck, but did not back down so readily,_

"_I'm not here to attack you, if that's what you mean." The Province snapped, "I'm looking for someone." Gallia sighed as his attacker did not move,_

"_Oh aye, and who are ye lookin' fer sae far north o' the Wall?" the voice asked airily. Gallia snorted,_

"_Why should I tell you? He asked, squirming slightly. The pressure on his back merely increased and the arrowhead scraped at the skin on his neck,_

"_How about because I hae an arrow at yer neck?" Gallia sighed; the voice did have a point, though he was surprised that it was so fluent in Latin. He let himself go slack,_

"_If I tell you why I am 'ere, will you let me go?" he asked. There was a pause as the other person thought about the proposition and finally let Gallia up. The Roman Province dusted his robes off as he stood back up before finally confronting his attacker. He stopped and stared the moment he did. Forest green eyes watched Gallia warily from underneath suspiciously familiar looking eyebrows, partially shadowed by long red hair that grew past the boy's shoulders. He also seemed to be sizing Gallia up somewhat; seemingly surprised at the way Gallia looked. Gallia then looked at the arrow the other teen had cocked in his bow,_

"_Thank you." He muttered. The red-haired teenager lowered his bow a little,_

"_Ye gonnae tell me why ye're here then?" he asked, "I kept tae ma end o' the bargain." He reminded the other boy. Gallia nodded,_

"_Alright, I am 'ere because I was supposed to be looking after a smaller Province of Rome's. 'E seems to 'ave given us the slip and run off somewhere around 'ere." He explained. The other teen raised an eyebrow at that,_

"_Wee laddie, dirty blonde hair, green eyes and large eyebrows like mines?" he asked. Gallia blinked in surprise,_

"_You know of Britannia?" he asked, astonished. The red-haired teen snorted dismissively,_

"_Aye, I ken him a'richt. That snotty wee brat is ma wee brither." His voice had gone rather soft, but the other teen quickly regained his composure, "If I see him I'll be sure tae toss him back yer way, nae little brat under Rome's control is allowed up past the Wa' anyway." Gallia sighed,_

"_Thank you. I suppose I should be on my way. I do not wish to intrude upon your territory any longer, Caledonia." Galila had heard tales of this land, and now here he was face to face with the young man who represented it. The red-haired teen snorted at the name and lowered his bow completely,_

"_Ye'd be wise tae keep tae yer ain side o' the Wa' frae now on." He warned, "There are mair dangers up here than jus' ma people." Gallia nodded, with a slight frown; why was the Barbrian nation warning him?_

"_I shall be sure to keep them in mind." He said quietly, turning to leave. But just as he was about to stalk off back to the south, the other nation stopped him,_

"_I dinnae think I got yer name." He said gruffly. Gallia blinked a little, surprised,_

"_And why would you wish to know that?" he asked imperiously. Caledonia looked to the ground, the lightest of blushes colouring his freckled cheeks,_

"_So I can tell that wee snot o' a brither o' mines who came lookin' fer him." He replied. Gallia smiled a little,_

"_It is Gallia, it should be familiar to little Britannia." He replied. Caledonia nodded and let the Province go,_

"_I suppose this is where we'll part ways fer now." He said, "If ye ever happen tae be near the Wa' though, I'm often doon there..." he trailed off uneasily. Gallia's smile widended, clearly the fledgling nation was trying to make a lasting impression,_

"_If I 'appen to be in the area I will be sure to 'ave a look for you." He replied, "Farewell for now Caledonia." He said as he flounced off to the south, Caledonia watching him go._

_..._

France laughed a little at the memory,

"You were so awkward back then Ecosse." He sighed, "So suspicious and yet you just 'ad to know who I was at the same time." Scotland flushed a little,

"What can I say tae that? I wis a teenager, trying tae get by and look aifter this whole place by masel'. Not tae mention haein' tae fight Rome off on a regular basis." France wrapped an arm around the Celtic nation's waist and hugged him close,

"I do not blame you, mon couer. It was a difficult time." He sighed, "Still, we struck up quite the friendship did we not?" Scotland hummed happily as he hugged France back,

"Aye, that we did; jus' that one chance encounter and here we are over two thousand years later. Who'd have thought it, eh?" France chuckled as he leaned against Scotland and watched the sun begin to sink below the horizon,

"I know, mon amour, it still amazes me too." He muttered, closing his eyes and heaving a very contented sigh. Two thousand years was a very long time, even by nation standards, and he hoped that they would still be as close for at least another thousand more.


End file.
